


You give me that body high.

by riskyrevenge



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Come Eating, Comfort/Angst, Drug Use, Fellatio, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, It's weed, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, feat. dillon being stupid and anton being a boss ass bitch, mainly portgo with some background dillton, this is just all kindsa freaky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riskyrevenge/pseuds/riskyrevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugo's never smoked weed. Dillon, Anton, and Porter take him under their collective wing. Porter's idea of helping stirs up some confusing emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delusionalwithlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusionalwithlove/gifts).



> This is for [alphamccalls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alphamccalls/pseuds/alphamccalls), for being a thoroughly awful influence and instigator, for egging me on, and for being ridiculously supportive. Love u hate u see u in hell xx
> 
> Title taken from [Mystery Skulls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xed9VGypYyc).

The alley behind the venue isn’t the cleanest or most ideal spot, but it’s the only somewhat secluded area outside where they won’t get busted. They all needed something to do while the roadies packed up their equipment, so Dillon is packing his favorite bowl while Anton chatters away at him, and Hugo and Porter are standing quietly with their hands stuffed in their pockets. Hugo’s fidgety, it’s the nerves, and he’s twisting his body side to side almost imperceptibly. It wouldn’t even be noticeable if his elbow weren’t brushing back and forth against Porter’s arm as he moves. 

Hugo exhales quietly, watching his breath ghost upwards into the chill. He feels Porter’s gentle elbow nudge and turns, raising an eyebrow in question.

“You alright?”

Hugo shoots Porter a small smile, nodding. It’s hard looking at Porter in this weather; his cheeks flush very easily in the cold and his hair is in complete disarray, hanging down into his face thanks to the wind. The streetlights cast shadows which Hugo finds very beautiful and very poetic and very maddening. It makes him want to wrap his arms around Porter and stay there, sharing space and warmth. He shoots a glance to where Dillon is preparing a few feet away and Porter tracks his gaze.

“No one’s going to make fun of you. Or judge you or anything. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Hugo turns his face up to the sky, frowning when he realizes most of the stars aren’t visible thanks to the clouds threatening to drop flurries on them any second. “No, that’s not it.” He looks back at Porter with a shy grin. “If any of you laughed at me for messing up I could just tweet about how Dillon cried that time he watched 13 Going On 30.”

Dillon stops what he’s doing to yell, entirely unnecessarily, “HEY! She wanted to be thirty and flirty and thriving! IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL STORY.” Then he shrugs, adding, almost as an afterthought, “Plus I was drunk so it doesn’t even count.” Anton punches him. “Would you just pack the fucking bowl already? It’s freezing out here.”

“You must learn patience, young padawan,” and Anton has to swat away Dillon’s hand as it ruffles his hair.

Hugo watches Porter as he laughs, eyes crinkled up at the corners. It’s contagious, the giddiness, and the butterflies in his stomach flutter about madly as he joins in, even though his heart isn’t completely in it. He would never freely admit to his fear. But there’s something about Porter that just crashes through every kind of mental wall he could ever put up to protect himself. When it comes to Porter, Hugo’s practically an open book. It’s not like he meant for it to happen. It’s just that Porter sets Hugo so perfectly at ease that the thought of not telling him something he explicitly asks about has never even occurred to him. So when Porter asks, “What is it that’s bugging you, then?” Hugo doesn’t try to hide it.

“What if I don’t like it?”

He waits anxiously for Porter to laugh, but he really should have seen this coming, that Porter doesn’t laugh at all. His head is slightly cocked to the side, staring aimlessly in thought. Hugo watches his breath puff out in tiny clouds and tries not to think about how inviting his lips look, bright red in the cold and wet from Porter subconsciously licking them every couple minutes. If he doesn’t stop they’re going to be chapped awfully tomorrow. Hugo thinks that wouldn’t stop him from wanting to kiss them.

Porter’s gaze finally lands back on Hugo. “Do you trust me?” he asks. Hugo lets out a startled giggle. It’s definitely not the response he was expecting, yet, it’s comforting somehow. “Of course.” Porter smiles and leans into him for a moment, pressing their arms together. Hugo leans into it so that they’re both off balance, but both supporting each other, before they return to their normal stances.

“If you two are done flirting like 12 year olds, Dillon has finally finished the one task he’s good for.” Anton’s quip startles Hugo, and he can feel the blood in his cheeks. He just grins and rolls his eyes and pointedly does not look at Porter as the two of them shuffle closer to Anton and Dillon. 

“Okay, I only have enough for one bowl, but it’s pretty good shit so we shouldn’t need more,” Dillon says matter-of-factly before holding it up to his mouth and lighting it. If Hugo had to guess, he’d say the only five things Dillon actually takes seriously would be weed, cats, Anton, his music, and looking good in his Snapchats. Hugo’s not sure if the shaking he’s experiencing is due to the cold or due to nerves. He glances surreptitiously at Porter only to find Porter looking back at him. He smiles weakly, and Porter beams back in reassurance, clapping a hand on Hugo’s back and rubbing back and forth. “You’ll be fine.”

Anton takes the pipe and lighter from Dillon, who coughs suddenly, letting a cloud of acrid smoke escape his lungs. “You’re okay Hugo, you’re with us,” he says with a smile before lighting up himself. Hugo watches intently, trying to remember what he’ll have to do. Anton only lights the bud for a moment, sucking in through the mouthpiece the entire time, removing his delicate thumb from the carb on the side and replacing it. He does this a few more times, removing his thumb and putting it back, getting as much smoke as he can. He passes the pipe and lighter to Porter before exhaling a smooth stream of smoke up into the night. He catches Hugo watching him and smiles again. “See? Easy.”

Porter turns to Hugo, handing him the lighter. “Can you light it for me?” he asks. Hugo panics for a moment, but meeting Porter’s eyes, he can see what Porter isn’t saying in the moment. _Just trust me._ Hugo nods and Porter holds the pipe up to his lips and tilts his head down to allow Hugo easier access. Hugo cups a hand around the lighter, perhaps unnecessarily since the wind has died down and they’re all huddled in a circle, but it’s a force of habit. It takes him a couple clicks of the lighter to get a flame because his hands are shaking slightly. He holds the flame to the bowl and can hear a slight sizzle as the bud burns.

Porter pulls back, his chest puffing out as he inhales as much as he can, and Hugo’s more distracted by Porter’s lips on the mouthpiece than he is concerned about learning how he’s supposed to take his hit next. He’s expecting Porter to hand him the pipe when he finishes his hit, but instead Porter uses his free hand to grab the back of Hugo’s head and gently pull him closer. 

Hugo’s heart starts beating faster, out of rhythm, and his lips part in a tiny startled gasp. Porter leans in and Hugo’s eyes flutter closed in anticipation. He can feel Porter’s nose barely brush his own, but he doesn’t feel the contact on his lips he’s expecting. Hugo opens his eyes and Porter’s there, barely any space between them, and Hugo’s hyper aware of the fact that Porter is _holding_ him there.

Then Porter’s eyes close and he begins exhaling, in a slow, narrow stream, and Hugo can feel the stream of smoke coming from his mouth. Realizing what he’s supposed to do, he inhales slowly, trying to match Porter’s breathing, inhaling whatever he exhales. The smoke stinks, and tastes even worse, but Hugo doesn’t care. He can feel his lungs expanding, taking it all in, and feels a slight tingling sensation, starting where Porter’s gripping his hair, firm and warm, and spreading down his body, through his arms and legs, dancing along the tips of his fingers and into his toes. He sways a little, feels his lips barely brush Porter’s and gets so startled he coughs. 

Once he starts, it’s hard to stop, and he coughs a fairly sizable cloud of smoke right into Porter’s face. Hugo is mortified, until he registers Anton and Dillon’s hysterical laughter, and sees Porter doubled over laughing just as hard. The laughter seems to bubble up from his insides, from every part of him, chasing away the jitters that had laid claim to him until it works its way up, forcing its way out of his mouth. He can’t stop laughing, and can feel tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and it’s exhilarating. When Hugo finally stops, he feels lightheaded and happy and loves everything about the moment. 

The pipe makes its way back around the circle; Dillon makes an attempt at smoke rings and doesn’t succeed but the rest of them cheer him on anyway. Anton is a pro at holding his smoke, and when Dillon gets in his face in an attempt to make him cough and lose his composure, Anton blows a thick stream of smoke directly into his eyes. Dillon drops to his knees and grasps the hem of Anton’s shirt in true melodramatic fashion. Porter and Hugo practically fall over laughing and Anton just grasps Dillon’s head and plants soft kisses to each of his eyelids before whispering, “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

When Porter goes to take the pipe and lighter from Anton, Hugo grabs them. “My turn,” he says. Porter’s eyes are practically twinkling in the soft glow from the streetlights. 

Hugo holds the pipe in his left hand, his thumb covering the little hole on the left side.

“Want me to light it for you?” Porter’s looking at him wide-eyed. Hugo smiles and nods, leaning down as Porter did for him previously. He places his lips against the opening, and watches as Porter lights the bowl. 

Hugo sucks in rapidly, and it’s too much. He coughs violently, not prepared for the hot, harsh, noxious edge to the smoke. Dillon pats his back a few times. “Try taking your thumb off the carb a few times. It’ll cool it down a little, make it easier going down. Go ahead, it’s still burning.” 

Hugo nods, his eyes watering. He places his lips to the pipe again, sucking in slower this time, taking his thumb off the hole and putting it back. He does it a few times, quickly, not wanting to let the smoke escape the pipe. He notices Porter watching him intently, and Hugo’s heart skips a beat when Porter licks his lips. He also notices Porter isn’t exactly looking at him; his gaze is angled below his sightline, and Hugo is slammed with the realization that Porter is staring at his lips. 

It’s too much, again, but for entirely different reasons.

Hugo wordlessly passes the pipe to Dillon and grabs Porter by his shirt collar, dragging him in. He barely registers the eager smile spread across Porter’s features before he frames his mouth around Porter’s just short of making contact, and exhales. 

He’s not sure what it is - adrenaline, nerves, the high, or all of the above - but Hugo feels lightheaded and giddy, and he wants to push this as far as he can. While they’re sharing breath, Hugo licks at Porter’s lips, tracing them with his tongue. It’s almost imperceptible, but he can feel Porter tremble against the fist Hugo has bunched in his t-shirt. Smiling, he pulls back, reeling from the buzz he feels throughout his body. Porter looks dazed, Anton is laughing, and Dillon looks absolutely scandalized.

“I am mad on Porter’s behalf just watching that!” Dillon exclaims. Anton narrows his eyes and leans in, tracing his tongue along Dillon’s lips in imitation of Hugo. When he pulls away and Dillon tries to follow, Anton shoves him. Porter’s flushed and laughing not quite as hard as before, and Hugo’s blissfully unaware of the effect he’s had on all of them. 

The weed is almost burned out, but it’s enough for one more pass around. Anton decides to take a leaf out of Porter and Hugo’s book in order to save enough for them and shotguns some smoke directly into Dillon’s mouth before passing the pipe and lighter to Porter and heading back inside. Dillon remains outside, looking forlorn, and sits on the ground against the wall of the venue. Porter holds the pipe out and Dillon shakes his head, “Nah. You guys finish it. I’m good. Toooo good right now.”

Porter shrugs and flicks the lighter, the orange glow of the flame dancing across his face. Hugo’s entranced by it. Porter looks almost like a painting and Hugo instinctively holds up his thumbs and forefingers in a rectangle, framing Porter within them. Porter lets the lighter go out to raise his eyebrows at Hugo. “What are you doing?”

Hugo makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “Saving this memory.” He giggles. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Porter laughs. “No dude, it’s definitely not obvious.” Hugo shrugs and holds his makeshift frame up again. Porter shakes his head, smiling, and lights the bowl. Hugo saves another memory of Porter smiling and lighting the pipe before Porter beckons him to come closer. 

Hugo obeys without delay, cautiously stepping into Porter’s personal space. Suddenly Porter’s hand is in the small of his back, pulling him in, until they’re flush together. Hugo gasps, his hands instinctively resting on Porter’s shoulders for balance. Porter leans in to blow the smoke into Hugo’s mouth one last time, and he shifts his hips against Hugo. Hugo clutches onto him for dear life, one of his hands finding its way into Porter’s hair. He inhales the smoke from Porter, both of them getting clumsy now, their lips bumping together. Hugo licks at Porter’s lips again, and Porter lets out a noise between a gasp and a moan. He shifts against Hugo again and Hugo can feel him hard against his hip. His grip in Porter’s hair tightens and he feels dizzy, almost like he’s falling, but Porter’s steadying him. He can feel himself getting hard in response, the sensations completely overwhelming him. Hugo’s panting, and he tingles all over, and he just wants more contact below the waist. He slowly thrusts his hips against Porter and opens his eyes, meeting Porter’s gaze.

Hugo can feel it, like an electric jolt, the need that rockets through his extremities. The need to touch, hold, feel, taste, smell, the need to never let go. And that’s when Porter’s hand disappears from his lower back, and he steps backward, out of Hugo’s grasp, breathing hard. 

Hugo’s brow furrows in confusion and he’s startled to hear Dillon’s voice, “Holy shit. Holy shit. I can’t deal with this.” Hugo turns back to Porter, who hands Dillon his pipe and lighter back, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and disappears inside without a word. Hugo’s rooted to the spot.

Dillon approaches him cautiously, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Hugo huffs. “I don’t get it.” He stares at the brick wall, almost expecting it to tell him what just happened. “Did I do something wrong? Did he not want it?”

“Oh my god,” Dillon laughs. “I think saying he wants it is actually an understatement. He definitely wants it, dude.” He wraps an arm around Hugo’s shoulders and starts steering him inside. “But I am so not having this conversation with you. Just talk to him when you get back to the hotel.”

Hugo mumbles in dissatisfied agreement and lets himself be led through the venue and out to the car waiting to take them all back to their hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally titled "yolo swag 420 blaze it and blow it". I hope you enjoyed the blaze it part, now here is the blow it part featuring sexy times and feelings.

The twenty minute car ride is excruciating.

Anton and Dillon are sitting next to him on their phones, with Anton reaching over to scroll through Dillon’s twitter feed and Dillon doing the same. Anton has his head on Dillon’s shoulder and any other day it would make Hugo smile. Right now it just feels like they’re twisting a knife that got lodged in his ribs. 

Porter’s riding shotgun, directly in front of Hugo, and he’s completely silent. Hugo feels antsy and claustrophobic in the backseat. He wants to say something, anything, to break the silence, talk to Anton and Dillon, start a singalong, whatever, but he keeps hesitating. It doesn’t feel right. So he settles for pulling on the edges of his sleeves, playing with the buttons on his jacket, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the glass of the window.

Every breath Hugo takes makes him feel like he’s going to explode. When the car pulls up at the hotel he practically bursts out, opening his door almost before the vehicle stops moving. He pushes through the revolving door without looking back or waiting for his friends, and rides the elevator up to the 7th floor. He stops as he’s walking past Porter’s door, contemplating whether or not he should wait for him to come up. But the elevator dings and it startles him, so Hugo keeps going down the hallway to his own room. He glances Porter out of the corner of his eye as he opens his door, and he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him before going inside. 

Hugo doesn’t bother to turn the lights on. The dark makes him feel safer somehow. Like he doesn’t have to face what’s happening. If it’s in the dark, it’s not quite real. He toes off his shoes by the door and tosses his jacket somewhere in the direction of the office chair that comes with the room. He climbs onto the bed and sits up against the headboard with his knees bent and wraps his arms around them, lifting his toes up and tapping them on the bed. 

He got too reckless tonight. It’s been hard to hide his true feelings from Porter for so long, _years_ ,and he’s blown it in a dumb moment of weakness. But…

But.

Porter initiated the shotgunning. Anton accused them of flirting. Dillon told him he was pretty sure Porter wants him. So why did he run? 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Hugo finds himself outside of Porter’s room, knocking rapidly. Desperately, he starts talking to the door. “Porter can I come in? I need to talk to you. Porter. I think I left my key in my room when I left to come over here so if you don’t let me in I’m going to be stuck out here on the floor all night. Porter I have to ask you something. Por - !”

Porter opens the door while Hugo is mid-knock, and his fist sails through the air to connect with Porter’s bicep. He wasn’t knocking hard, though, and it earns him a small smile from Porter. “Sorry,” he explains, “I dozed off.”

Hugo steps inside tentatively. Porter has his lights on. There’s no hiding here.

“What did you wanna ask me?” Porter’s standing just inside the door, and Hugo finds it extremely hard to maintain eye contact. He can feel himself coming down now, the buzzing throughout his body almost gone, the lightheadedness leaving him with his own frantic _what-ifs_. 

Hugo turns away and walks over to the bed, sitting delicately on the edge. Fiddling with his shirt cuffs gives him something to occupy himself, so he folds them back over themselves and unrolls them, buttoning them and unbuttoning them. “I just…” He can’t find the words.

Porter sits in the desk chair right across from Hugo. “You know you can tell me anything.” His tone is imploring, and Hugo can’t hold anything back from Porter.

He looks up, finally meeting Porter’s gaze. “Why did you leave me in the alley?”

Hugo can tell the question catches Porter off-guard. He doesn’t know how to answer it. He’s using his feet to twist the chair back and forth while he thinks about how to answer, and now that it’s out there, Hugo can’t stop watching him.

“I didn’t want to force you into anything.”

Not for the first time over the course of the night, Hugo has to stop every other thought process to comprehend what is happening. “You didn’t… want to force me?”

Porter nods solemnly, scratching the back of his head. “You were high, and I was taking advantage of that, and it was wrong, and I’m sorry, just please don’t hate me.”

Hugo physically holds his hands up in front of him in a ‘stop’ gesture. “So you’re saying, if you weren’t ‘forcing’ me, you’d have kept going?”

Porter blushes and looks away from him at that, and Hugo’s pulse quickens. It’s all the answer he needs. “I was just trying to get you to kiss me,” he whispers, and Porter snaps his head back to look at him so fast that Hugo winces. He holds his hand out shakily as an invitation. He can’t breathe and he feels paralyzed for what seems like an eternity until Porter begins inching toward him, still sitting in the chair.

When Porter slides his hand into his, Hugo finally exhales. Porter’s contact is grounding and comforting, and he lets Porter grip his forearm to guide him off the bed to stand before the chair. Hugo can feel his heart thundering against his ribs and Porter just looks up from beneath his messy bangs and Hugo is overwhelmed by _everything_. How much he wants this, how long he’s kept it all in, how infuriatingly noble Porter was being… so he stops holding back. He climbs into Porter’s lap, straddling him, to Porter’s surprise and excitement, and laces his fingers together at the back of Porter’s neck. Then he looks Porter in the eye and promptly rolls his hips, grinding down on Porter’s lap. Porter’s mouth falls open in a perfect “o” shape, his eyes flutter closed, and his hands instinctively find Hugo’s hips to hold.

Porter’s panting and all he says is a breathy, “Holy shit.” Hugo laughs quietly, continuing to slowly roll his hips. He feels like he did outside the venue, his whole body buzzing, and pleasantly lightheaded. 

He leans in to place a kiss on Porter’s jawline, just below his ear, and whispers, “I really thought you were going to kiss me in that alley.” He can feel Porter shiver as his breath ghosts over his ear. “I really wanted you to.”

Hugo starts to pull back, and Porter turns his head to chase his lips. Hugo brings a hand to his cheek and pushes him away. Porter’s just staring at him, wide-eyed, confused. He leans in again and Hugo bats him away, this time lightly slapping his cheek. “What the fuck dude, I’m trying to kiss you.”

Hugo leans in and stops just short of Porter’s lips. “You had your chance,” he says, punctuating it with another roll of his hips. Porter gasps and his head falls back against the chair. His neck is perfectly exposed, smooth and peppered with freckles. Hugo licks a stripe up from Porter’s neckline, over his adam’s apple, and nips at his chin. Porter’s fingers tighten at Hugo’s waist as he whispers a distressed “fuck” followed by an almost whiny, “This is so unfair.” It sends Hugo’s blood rushing south and makes him grind down on Porter even harder. He can feel Porter’s dick through their jeans. It makes him reckless.

Pushing his hands up just under the hem of Porter’s shirt, Hugo presses a soft kiss to Porter’s neck. He can feel Porter’s breathing on his shoulder, erratic and labored. It gives him a heady sense of pride to know he’s responsible for Porter completely losing control over himself. He bites into Porter’s neck, eliciting a startled moan which is cut short by Porter clapping a hand over his own mouth. Hugo’s not looking at his face, but he can picture the exact expression of horror Porter must be making. It’s one that says “oh my god why,” but if you know Porter like Hugo does, it secretly means “fuck yes”. 

He swipes his tongue over Porter’s neck where he bit down, soothing it and gently sucking on it. Porter’s moved his hands to run them back and forth over Hugo’s thighs and it’s slowly driving him insane. He responds by slowly dragging his nails over Porter’s stomach where he’s feeling up under his shirt and muttering, “I want to see your pretty mouth on my cock,” directly into Porter’s ear. Hugo feels Porter stiffen underneath him, his hands stop moving, and his breath hitches. Hugo keeps going, biting down his neck toward his collar, running his hands up Porter’s chest and rucking up his shirt. He only stops when he feels Porter’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him back.

Hugo pulls away, his heart skipping a beat. _Fuck_ , he thinks, _I went too far._ He stands up, unable to look at Porter, and turns to leave when Porter grabs his hand. He looks at him reluctantly, fearing the rejection. He can hear the consolation apology already. “Hugo, you know I love you dude, you’re my best friend… but this is too weird.” Or even, “Oh man, I’m still too high right now, this shouldn’t have gone this far.” Or maybe worst of all, “What the fuck are we doing? Hugo, I… I don’t know if we should talk to each other for a while.” 

But Porter doesn’t say any of those things. He’s just staring at Hugo in awe, breathing hard, and the anticipation is too much to take. 

Hugo’s about to yell an apology at him and run away, never to return, when Porter blurts out, “ _Fuck_ , Hugo, you can’t just say shit like that without warning me.” He tugs on Hugo’s hand and slides out of the chair to drop straight to his knees. “You’re gonna make my brain short circuit.” Hugo’s frozen in place while Porter lets go of his hand to fumble with the button on his jeans, popping it open and pulling them down, looking up at Hugo as if searching for approval. Hugo’s sure if he weren’t so shocked he’d be laughing; Porter looks so eager it’s surreal. Then the situation really sinks in and Hugo exhales sharply, because Porter is _eager to suck his dick_ and that’s about the hottest damn thing that’s ever happened to him.

Porter’s still looking up at him, like he needs permission. He actually licks his lips, probably subconsciously, but it sends a slight shiver through Hugo’s body. He threads his right hand into Porter’s hair and bites his lip and it’s all the encouragement Porter needs. Hugo gasps when he feels Porter’s mouth on his cock, mouthing at him through the fabric of his briefs. His grip in Porter’s hair tightens, and Porter’s hands are digging into his ass, holding him in place and eliciting embarrassing noises from Hugo. “Porter - ah, please,” he stutters out, painfully hard. Porter laughs quietly against him, swiping his tongue along the fabric. 

Hugo pulls Porter’s head back and shoves his briefs down. “Impatient much?” Porter quips, but he’s not laughing anymore. He’s running his hands up Hugo’s sides and chewing on his lip, staring at Hugo’s cock. 

“I have exhibited saintly patience waiting for you to catch up with me, and I’m tired of waiting,” Hugo says, his chest tight as he makes his confession. Then Porter has his hand around the base of his dick, dragging his tongue up along the underside, and Hugo can’t think.

_“Merde!”_ he nearly shouts, head tilting back. Porter tongues at the slit before taking Hugo in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. He slides his mouth down to meet his hand and Hugo’s grip in his hair tightens. He looks up to meet Hugo’s gaze and Hugo gets tunnel vision; all he can focus on are Porter’s wet lips around his cock. “Please,” he begs, hoarse. Porter acquiesces, sliding his mouth back up, trailing it with his hand. Then he starts bobbing his head in earnest, making soft noises around Hugo that have his fingers shaking in Porter’s hair. 

Hugo bites back a moan, panting and murmuring curses and letting out little gasps when Porter twists his hand. It’s so good, so much fucking better than he’d fantasized, and it eats away at him. He feels like he could melt into the floor any second, can barely feel his legs, his senses limited to the feeling of Porter’s tongue on his cock, Porter’s hand coaxing noises from him, Porter’s lips tight and wet and slick around him. It’s all just _so good_ , and it’s agonizing to think that Porter must have had a lot of practice. Hugo’s hips buck involuntarily and Porter gags for a moment but keeps going, pulls his mouth off to place an openmouthed kiss to the side of Hugo’s cock, and smiles. 

Hugo can feel his jaw go slack as his mouth drops open. He guides Porter up to stand, practically yanking him by the hair, and crashes their mouths together. Porter yelps, his hands fisting in Hugo’s shirt and Hugo is digging his nails into Porter’s lower back under his layers. There’s nothing tentative or careful or slow about it; Hugo’s had enough of waiting, enough of thinking about Porter being with anyone else. He tugs on Porter’s lip, biting him; tangles his tongue around Porter’s, sucking on it; brings his hands up to Porter’s face, swiping his thumbs over his cheeks. Hugo breaks away to tug Porter’s hoodie and shirt up all at the same time, and manages to pull them up and off with only a minor degree of difficulty. Porter’s hair is mussed and his lips are swollen and Hugo gets distracted by needing to map every freckle on Porter’s torso with his hands.

“I thought I missed my chance to kiss you,” Porter says, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. 

Hugo can feel the flush flooding his cheeks. “I - um… I got angry.”

“Angry?” Hugo’s still staring at Porter’s chest, his hands touching whatever he can reach. Porter is rubbing Hugo’s shoulders gently, a gesture of comfort.

“You’re so fucking good, Porter, and I - I hated thinking about you being with anyone else before me.” Porter’s grip on his shoulders tighten at that and he presses soft kisses to the corners of Hugo’s mouth before kissing him properly, sliding his arms around him. Hugo steps out of his jeans and underwear, taking a cautious step backwards toward the bed. They make their way to it, taking their time now, as Hugo fumbles with Porter’s belt, and Porter whispers against his lips: “I’m not going anywhere now that you’ve got me.” 

Hugo walks backwards into the bed, sitting down forcibly as it hits the back of knees. He unbuttons his shirt while Porter finally removes his belt and pants and climbs over Hugo, trailing his tongue along his collarbone. He has a hand on Hugo’s cock, stroking loosely, as he tongues a nipple. Hugo’s back arches up off the bed as he cries out Porter’s name followed by a stream of what Porter can only assume is profanity in French. 

“I’m - all - yours,” he mumbles against Hugo’s skin, punctuating each word with a bite or kiss as he trails down Hugo’s chest. “And - you’re - fucking - mine,” he adds, thumbing at the slit and swiping precum down Hugo’s cock with another stroke. Hugo whimpers, both of his hands in Porter’s hair, tugging on it as a plea. 

Porter speeds up his hand, dropping down to suck on the head. Hugo can feel his orgasm building, his muscles tensing. “Porter, I’m - fuck, I’m going to come, god!” Porter pulls off, mouthing at the side of Hugo’s dick as Hugo comes, his vision going white as his entire body tenses and releases, shuddering. He opens his eyes to find Porter’s cheek coated in his come but he’s smiling, stroking Hugo through it. Hugo pulls him up onto the bed, feeling Porter’s erection against his hip, and he holds Porter’s head still as he licks a stripe up Porter’s cheek, tasting himself. It’s bitter and thick and not entirely disagreeable. He rolls over to be on top and Porter’s eyes widen as Hugo licks him again, cleaning him off.

“God, Hugo,” is all Porter can seem to manage. Hugo smirks down at him and thrusts his hips, rubbing against Porter’s cock. He leans down to swallow Porter’s moan, thrusting faster as Porter starts to buck up against him. He brings a hand down to stroke Porter, flicking his thumb over the head on every upstroke and twisting _just so_ on every downstroke. Porter is moaning a litany of Hugo’s name interspersed with “fuck,” and “oh god,” and “so good, don’t stop.” As if he could. He has a burning need to mark Porter’s skin, to leave hickeys across his shoulders darker than his freckles, to make Porter feel so good that every other thought is blown out of his mind. 

Hugo scoots down to nip at the inside of Porter’s thigh and he gasps Hugo’s name as he comes, warm and thick, on his stomach. Hugo brings his mouth up to catch some of it, sucking the last of it out of Porter, running his fingers over Porter’s torso. He licks the rest of it off of Porter’s stomach; it’s different than his own. Slightly sweeter but still heavy on his tongue. Pleasant.

He grins up at Porter who is staring with his mouth agape. “Hugo… fuck.” Hugo climbs up to kiss him, their tongues meeting and Porter tasting both of them in Hugo’s mouth. 

Porter breaks away to ask, “So like, you’ve been thinking about this for how long?”

Hugo rests his head on Porter’s chest. “Somewhere around… four years? Since we hung out with Penny.”

“Shit.” Porter brings his hand up to card through Hugo’s hair. “To think we could have been getting down and dirty for that long.” 

Hugo snaps his head up to look at Porter, almost frantic. “What do you mean?”

“You adorable fucking dork,” Porter laughs. “I’ve been into you since before we ever met up in person. But you’re apparently the king of keeping your distance.”

Hugo doesn’t know if he should beat his head against the wall for being oblivious or slap Porter for never telling him. He settles for kissing him senseless.

Then something occurs to him. “ _Fuck_ ,” Hugo says emphatically, breaking away. Porter raises his eyebrows in question. “You realize we owe Dillon big time? For getting us high enough that we’d start hitting on each other.” 

Porter brings a hand to his forehead. “Oh my fucking god. He’s never going to let this go.”

The both burst out laughing and Hugo thinks that even if Dillon doesn’t ever let them live it down, it was completely worth it.

 


End file.
